Monday, February 15, 2016

When I was a little girl, I imagined I'd marry my dad one unspecified day. I told Jared about bedtime tonight and how I thought most kids might imagine themselves marrying their mother or father. Pause. No comment from Jared. Then, "Well, if your telling Beren you give someone a ring because you'll love them forever, it all makes sense."

Jared and I have woven tales of weddings into bedtime stories the past few months. Soon, Beren will wear his first pair of dress pants, dress shirt, and a bow tie. He will be the ring bearer for his uncle's wedding.

Tonight, I described how his uncle and his future aunt will be handsome and beautiful. That they'll be smiling. The woman is often called "the bride" and the man is called "the groom" I told him. "That's funny. A groom is someone who combs their hair," Beren said.

"There are special jobs that people do in weddings. The groomsmen and the bridesmaids are important friends of the groom and bride. They'll be wearing pretty clothes," I said. "There are also two jobs for kids. One kid carries a treasure chest with rings in it."

"One of the rings is for me. And there's chocolate covered strawberries in the treasure chest, too," Beren added.

"Yes, there's two kid sized rings and two big people rings. The small rings are for you and Cheetah. The big rings are for Uncle Adam and Kristin."

"Why?"

"You know how Papa and I wear our silver rings? We gave them to each other when we got married. They show that we love each other forever."

"Momma, when I marry you, I'll give you a golden ring."

"Oh, that's very nice sounding, Beren."

"And you'll give me a golden ring with a daffodil on it."

The rest of story time involved Beren and his special bracelet that made him invisible so that the treasure box floated towards Uncle Adam and Krisitin who were surprised to see a box floating towards them. Other items, like cookies, were added to the treasure chest.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

I can tell Beren's been really sick because though we've all been cooped up together, the house is not messy. We moved from couch to the floor reading books. We didn't even color. No Legos.

A couple nights ago, Jared and I stayed up talking until 2AM. Getting up off the couch to soothe Beren's coughs seemed a better choice than dragging out of bed. "If only we could bring him into our bed," Jared said. "But then none of us would get any sleep."

Beren, unfortunately, is a kicker. His sleep is fidgety when in the presence of others, even when he's really sick. I'd like to be able to monitor Beren's breathing, but he reminds me he's alive and kicking by kicking incessantly. I imagine he gets only slightly better rest than me in this state.

Yesterday, Beren moaned ("Uhhnn. Uhn.") for about, well, most of the day. Breakfast went ok, and the rest was downhill. Jared and I took turns working on our business and doctoring to Beren. I should say "being present for Beren" because he refused nearly all remedies except finger and toe massages.

In the afternoon, Beren said, "I want to be in my bed". Shockingly, we both fell asleep. My child does not nap. Shocking turn of events. The nap mellowed me, and I was ready for the next round of moaning.

Just before bed, Beren asked me to tell him the word for what he was doing. He took offense when Jared and I called it "moaning". "Wailing?" No. "Caterwauling?" No. "Bemoaning?" No. "Complaining?" No. "Teething?" No.

"You know the word, Momma! Tell me! Maybe it's the next one!" I offered a few more, which were not it. I suggested using a thesaurus. No way. Jared suggested it was bedtime. He also suggested that Beren was "crying". "That's it!" Beren said.

It was certainly time for bed. Nothing really helped his wracking cough but standing nearby an open door to allow the cool mist to soothe his airways. We swayed to Luscious Jackson, Beck, and Tracy Chapman beside the door and then headed to bed.

Between 8:00PM and 8:00AM, Jared and I took a dozen or so trips to Beren's room to soothe his cough and his discomfort from fever. Each time, he helped him settle back down to sleep, offering water, elderflower and linden tea, and an herbal throat spray.

Today was better. Less crying. More activity, just a little. His cough is less agonizing.

Tonight, after I read a wacky Eric Carle book and told Beren a "Cheetah story", I began dozing in Beren's bed. "Momma, you're too close. Why are you too close?" "You have both pillows to prop yourself up, Beren. My head is on the pillow, too." As I slid my head onto the cool mattress, I smelled the lavender sachets we made today. Beren had stuffed them inside his pillows. I dozed until Beren said, "Momma, I want to be alone." "Ok, Beren. Goodnight. I love you."

About Me

Rachel Mackow is a photographer and writer who resides on a ridge in the New Jersey Highlands with her husband and son. She and her husband, Jared, co-own Wild Ridge Plants, a native plant nursery. They offer classes about the uses of wild plants and their stewardship. Contact - rachel [@] wildridgeplants.com